A Spot of Wine
by PaxtonProphet
Summary: After spending months roaming the wasteland of Auburn searching for his next objective, Paxton assumes the guise of a normal person and forms a bond with a group of unaffected Survivors, but he may come to regret this choice of action. His (partial) sanity sure does.
1. Chapter 1

A fire... lit in the hold of a metal tin...A simple thing to me, yet a sense of security to them. They fought for places around it at night and scowered endlessly for fuel during the day. I could understand, though slightly, why such a thing mattered to them, but putting its continued existence above their own lives? THAT I couldn't understand. Fires could be re-ignited; the stopped hearts of human beings? Not so easily done. Still, I wasn't about to question them and continued to sit among them, they not being any wiser to my identity than they were to what had happened in Auburn. As far as 'oblivious civilians' were concerned, they were the most so and THAT was perfect.

THEY were a group of young 'survivors' who had found life among the ruins of the former city and I was dane to join them after but three months of roaming through the rubble of all that I had once known. I knew that my true goal would come to light soon enough and saw fit to live among the people for only a while. This particular group seemed well enough off and were kind to boot. What more could I ask for in a temporary arrangement?

Our group consisted of six people including myself; four men and two women. We sat around our little 'fire-pit', roasting what little food we could find. I myself wasn't going to eat, but we didn't yet trust our youngest member with fire after a recent incident she'd had with a frank. She was sixteen, but honestly made bad choices. Of course, me being the eldest among them that was still capable of 'child' care, she was forced upon me as a charge. Her name was Ramona and she seemed a little too eager to be included in our 'older' activities such as scavenging, defense, and... a number of other things more or less agonizing for me.

After finishing with the little wad of beef I'd been handed, I gave it to Ramona who happily accepted it. My work, for now, was done. I stood from the circle and strode over to a little cot I'd called home for some many months. Lucas, a twenty-year-old bartender and our defacto authority, turned to watch me and, annoyingly, waited for me to settle myself before saying anything. He made a habit of it and did so intentionally. He knew I LOATHED it. "Hey, I was hoping to make a quick run to that flea-market we saw on the way back from Downtown. Mind coming with me?" I grumbled my response.

"Can it wait? It's nearly seven and I would like to wake before dawn for the first time in two weeks." Lucas shook his head, a grin lighting his features.

"We kinda need a new sleeping bag for Reb. Her's caught fire, remember? Besides, you won't have to worry about me, this time. I want you and Ramona to go. She's been begging to do a run for a while now and I thought it only fair considering she's the one who burned the bag in the first place." I gave Lucas the most death-bore scowl I could manage without my face becoming a simple contort of scrunched muscle. Not only was he suggesting that I make a late-night supply run, but now he was asking me to commence a run with Ramona. I had enough of the girl as it was.

"And why, pray tell, is it me who has to accompany her? There the three of you who could easily venture out and manage fine." Another grin and the rage within me was boiling over.

"Because you're in charge of her. Besides, you're always telling us about your training. You can protect a girl, can't you? Maybe you can prove how good you actually are. Come on. I'll give you half my rations for a week." I cared not for their disgusting 'rations', but I knew I needed them and might need more have a situation arise. Reluctantly, I stood and slid the black combat boots onto my feet, tucking them into the olive-cargos before motioning for Ramona to follow. As we left out encampment, I grabbed a single satchel that was awaiting by the door to to the store-front we'd been staying in. She grabbed hers and we were off.

...

If my dislike of Ramona was not apparent in my earlier description of her, I elaborate more. She was an immature, overly headstrong minx who's fiery locks of hair came to me as a hint of her inward advocation with the underworld. Perhaps I was always hasty in making generalizations about the girl... She wasn't as bad as I make her out to be, but, sometimes, feelings need to be let out and that was my way of releasing them. I never said them aloud, but I made sure they knew... Well... Ramona was oblivious... Unfortunately...

As we made headway towards the Flea-Market, she would look up at me with eyes of a smoldering hickory and with something in them that suggested many things. She was happy to be with me... She always was. Sometimes, a little guilt would plague me for having malice in her existence, but then she would ALWAYS flush those feelings away. She would REMIND me why I loathed her so.

Around nine- judging by the moon- we made it to the market and began our scowering of the stalls about the wall-less structure. Ramona stuck close to me and did so in a rather uncomfortable fashion. She was waiting. I knew she was. So was I but I wasn't eager... We searched many more stalls, picking through forgotten trinkets and toppled 'art' that I had many an inward opinion of. Still, she stayed VERY close and a sickness arose in me. I could FEEL her intentions. It was only a matter of time.

I had warning when her first advance commenced, but fought it off for the sake of seeming 'normal.' She stood directly next to me and leaned on my right arm, her cheek pressing softly to my shoulder and lighting a burning sensation in my entire foreside. There it was... Less aggressive than the last, but unwelcome, nonetheless. I shifted against her- not exactly pushing but enough to get her off of me. I moved along to another stall and began to boil in rage as she continued to swoon around me like a puppy. I'd done rather... less reputable things, but was it worth THIS sort of punishment?

As I stopped again to look through a box of fabrics, I felt a gentle glide across my hunched shoulder blades and writhed against it. "Chance..." I had to remind myself that THAT was the name I'd given them and thus was what they'd call me, but, at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be who I had once been. I'd take a psychic cannibal commander over 'Chance' at this point. I gave her the privilege of acknowledging her and soon wished I hadn't. So soon as I looked at her, she shoved against me and nuzzled under my chin. The constricting contact caused my body to writhe again and my emotions to go livid. "I... I'm sorry about last time... I was a little... excited..." This time, I forced her off of me, but kept to being gentle. Though she was the bane of me, I hadn't a want to harm her... yet.

"My response stands." Her expression remained playful, but I could not understand why. I was scowling, surely, and had no look of 'amusement' anywhere on me. Her persistence was biting at my patience.

"You never said 'no'."

"I though I'd made myself clear enough. If I need to say it now, I will. No." Her laugh could bring a man to suicide. Right then, I considered it. She rolled her fingers across my left hand which had been aggressively gripping the basket of cloth.

"Yet, you haven't moved away..."

"If you're romanticizing my refusal as some sort of game, I ask that you stop. I haven't moved away because Lucas asked me to protect you and I will do that and nothing more. You are a simple charge in my care; less than a pet, even. You are alive now because I stay and you'd do best not to agitate my frail temper any farther."

"What 'duty' do you have to me in that heart of yours? Is there really a soldier in you? Are you just being a gentleman? What?"

"I'm being polite. Do NOT wring out my courtesy." Another smile... Damn me to hell...

Then there came a disruption around us and my head shot up to gaze about. I sense so many minds- unhinged minds- swarming closer and closer. They could smell us. I grabbed Ramona's wrist and bolted off towards the back-road which gave way to our 'shelter.' I did not have to fight them... nor run... I could have easily thwarted them off with the snap of my fingers... but that wasn't normal... That wasn't... human... I needed to be human right now... I needed to stay 'off the radar' both metaphorically and literally. If... THEY found me... If HE found me... There would be nothing tied to be... and everything to take away... I'd destroy them all...

We made it some ways into the jungle of concrete and stopped within an alley for but a seconds rest. At least, for a moment, Ramona had no breath to speak with and I so eagerly wanted to leave before she had some. As soon as we made it back, she'd keep quiet and play a little game of pretend as though she were a lamb. Sadly, she found words too soon. "Why did we run?"

"I heard them... The beasts. Perhaps if you weren't so concerned with your advances, you would have as well. Let's head back. Reb can have my bag. I've slept on worse than tile floors."

"A common white knight, huh?" I DESPERATELY wanted to bite at that remark with every selfish and destructive action I'd ever taken, but self control was a virtue. I was not the commander... I was 'Chance.' I was just a man and nothing more. We traversed a little spans of high-way before Ramona found more means to talk and pick at me as though I found it as entertaining as she. "That wasn't the first time you and I ran from nothing..."

"It was not nothing. Had it been, I wouldn't have run. I trust my senses."

"Then why haven't I ever heard them?"

"Because you don't shut up long enough. You'll get yourself killed sooner or later."

"That's why I have you, honey. You protect me, remember?"

"Do not mistake my responsibility with intimacy. You'd be wise to remember the difference." She would have retorted... Had it not been for the near wail of one of the beasts... Not but a second after the cry rang, a swarm of the creatures swallowed the space around us, locked in every building... every shaded space. I hadn't been focused. Damn that girl, I had let this happen because of her!

A single one lunged for her, but I snagged her once more and ran as fast as I could with her additional carry- which wasn't very fast, mind, as she was almost two feet shorter and I. If she couldn't hear them before, I'd be damned if she didn't then. They were monstrous beasts under the guise of human beings; eyes red as crimson blood and skin as though life had been drained entirely. Yet, they moved and they breathed and they hungered with the blood-lust of the most vicious monsters in all of myth. How many were following us, I kept no mind, but to how quickly they started to gain on us, I DID notice. Again, Ramona was more a liability than anything. Growing tired of her lagging at my heels, I snatched her up and tore across the streets as fast as I could.

I didn't need to... But I had to...

Yes, we made it back safe and no less worse for the wear, but from then on, I knew my troubles would only advance... Ramona would NEVER let it go.


	2. Chapter 2: I know I'm a Wolf

Since that night, all began to get worse for me. Unlike her usual silence, when Ramona and I returned, she spun herself a web of a story. She played me her 'white knight' and a true hero. That was exactly what I WASN'T. I would have happily left her. Lucas would've had my head, though, so, because of my 'good will' I was thrown into the fire-pit of joke-ends and rumor. It was one thing if Remona took to advances. It was another if the rest of the group thought that I fancied her. I thought I'd made it ever so obvious, but it turned out that they were just as oblivious as the ginger devil. One more problem to deal with.

I pick up about three days after the incident while our group was moving along to the next area to set up camp. I was keeping my distance from Remona and decided to walk alongside Lucas at the front of the pack. Of course, this would eventually become counteractive as they saw this as a show of nervousness and not one of hatred even if I did voice otherwise. Might as well have been talking to sheep. Lucas was a prime example.

Half-way through the treck, he turned to me with the most... for lack of a better word, 'mushy' smile he could manage and whispered, "Why aren't you back there with Remona?" I scowled and released an exadurated sigh.

"Because I don't want to be."

"You don't have to be nervous." The remark caused my blood to boil, something which betrayed me as the blush came across as something other than rage.

"There isn't a single frail nerve in my body, especially to the likes of her. I'd rather stab myself than be caught dead with that witch."

"Someone's getting deffensive. The red in those cheeks say otherwise." Like I said: betrayed me.

"If you honestly think I feel for that dead weight you've hoisted upon me, then I should cut your brain from your head because you obviously aren't using it."

"You can't hide it, Chance. I've been in love before." It was then that it all went south, including my self control. With fists balled, I barked out every gallon of my inward inferno, heedless and entirely pure to the extent of being white fire.

"You oblivious, mentaly retarded, blind, aggrivating son of a bitch! I mean what I say and when I say I hate someone, you better know that I wish them dead over every other whim in my soul! I have killed men before. Men stronger than you, men more entitled to life than you and those that I have hated and wished to burn in the firey pit of hell! Unless you want to join them in purgatory, I suggest you drop every insinuating, insulting gossup you speak of me lest I send a pointed reconing that shall shutter you!" The look of a deer in headlights from all around me was enough reward, but the expression of Lucas churched into fire too soon for my liking.

"You said you were a solider..."

"Try a commander. I was on the upside of warfare, Lucas. I made the tough choices, I drove men to victory and I drove men to death. I've seen the good die and the bad prosper. I've seen the worst of humanity and I have lived the hells that all the earth has created. Know me now, Lucas. You can see me, now... Do you believe my hatred?!" That last word was the last of sanity to echo around us. The rest... it was all a rabble of hunger. They were here... they were starving. We all heard them and just as soon as we did, we bolted as fast as our weary bodies could manage.

They were wolves... We were rabbits in the blizzard... And we were being hunted...

Their numbers were incredible, possibly the most I'd ever seen in one place. Their looks were different, as well. They all seemed emaciated, skinny, walking piles of bones. Their eyes poured with desperality. They were desperite... starving... and about to get a meal one way or another. I followed close of Lucas' heels, Reb, Remona, Chris, and Shay behind me. Reb was in the far back, an older woman not so fit for running. Those in the back were those chosen by the pack, I knew... And something inside me... something sickening... wished that it was anyone... anyone but her... And when they closed in... I slowed. I nearly stopped... And when they took her...

I turned around...

They dragged her off so quickly in their swarm and I felt such a powerful pull in my gut. I couldn't... let it happen... Not to her... To ANYONE but her... Reb had lived long, but she had lived long for a reason... and I was the one that was killing her... but why her? Why did I kill her...? I ran after the swarm of bony flesh and I let every ounce of my rage boil and brim over my limit. I followed for as long as my body would allow... I followed until my legs threatened to give out... and then kept going. They took her far from where we were and into a collapsed office structure. I followed still. I followed even after I listened to the screams... her screams... I followed into the pit of the swarm and only stopped when I saw her... saw her lain and dying... her body torn asunder... And I let it all out... All my rage... All my power tha had built up for so long... In one fluent wave, the skulls of ever single beast in that room burst in a plume of gore... except for one...

Me...

In spite of it all, however... In spite of her... condition... Reb had managed to cling to what little there was left of her and she glared at me, glared with a look so familiar yet one I had never seen in that way before... because it was never aimed at me... Those eyes so ill and fading looked to me and with what last breath she could muster she said, "You... you are... the devil..."

"No..." I hissed. "I'm a nesisary evil..." She was gone... Gone in one of the worst, most grusome ways I could have imagined... Because I had done unto others the same... But Rebecca... She hurt me... It hurt to know... that the last thing in her eyes... was fear... fear of me... And for the first time ever... death was... a weight on me... Maybe it was my guise getting to me. Maybe it was my mind. Maybe I was losing myself in the swell of polution those people were spilling into my head. Maybe it was... that Rebecca had been the only one of them I actually... liked... But, right then I felt that... Those beasts may have been wolves, but I was no rabbit...

I was their alpha...

 ** _"Yes,_**

 ** _I know I'm a wolf and I've been known to bite_**

 ** _But the rest of my pack, I have left them behind._**

 ** _And my teeth may be sharp and I've been raised to kill_**

 ** _But the thought of fresh meat, it's making me ill_**

 ** _So I'm telling you..._**

 ** _That you'll be safe..._**

 ** _With me..."_**

 ** _-"I know I'm a wolf" by Young Heretics_**


	3. Chapter 3: Loose Ends

I should've suspected such a reaction out of them. As soon as I returned, exhausted and soaked in blood, they stared for but a moment before Lucas upholstered his pistol. For the second time in my existence, a gun was to my head. Of course, I couldn't blame him for it. Reb was gone and there I was covered in human remains. At least, for once, Ramona looked disgusted by me. Ha... Now THAT... THAT was a reward if I had ever seen one. "Where's Rebecca?" Lucas asked me, brow furrowed and stance so bordering on either ready or bluffing. I, of course, being who I was could easily tell it was the ladder. He would have never pulled the trigger. Still, my own arrogance aside, I took the decency to seem at least SLIGHTLY troubled. I did as normal people do in grief: lowered my head, allowed my voice to waver between slightly dramatic and almost in tears. Did Reb's death really bother me? To a degree, as I explained, but I wasn't about to allow myself the distraction of mourning.

"I... was too late... I... I at least know that... It was quick..." The barrel of the hand-gun tilted down ever slightly. His eyes seemed to consider it.

"Why are you dripping with... Blood?"

"Do you not think I tried? I gave it my all, Lucas... I fought through those... THINGS... None of us wanted Reb to die... She was more deserving of life... than any of us..." All of them seemed to mirror my own position, though theirs was more genuine than mine ever could have been. For the longest time, no one spoke. The gun was re-holstered and we stood in absolute silence. It seemed that even the world was dane to share our mourning for I seemed to imagine that not even a flame dared to crackle upon the burning roof-tops.

"...Have mercy on her soul, but we can't stay here. Did you see how many of them there were? Largest horde I have ever seen. Mona, you, Dustin, and Jazy head down sixth. Chance and I will scout Main and Autumn and come around to that book store near Brockland avenue. Meet us there. You have a flare in your pack. If you have trouble, light it IMMEDIATELY. Come on, Chance." I followed without argument and the others left just as silent. "You know," Lucas started as soon as the others were off and out of ear-shot. "When I worked as a bar-keep, I sometimes doubled as a bouncer, especially on busy nights. They said they trusted my judgment."

"Sounds interesting," I mumbled.

"I guess, but what I could do just as easily as find fake I.D.s was find bull-shitters. I can tell when people lie. It's a pretty useful skill as of late, considering the amount of anarchy and worthless scum-bags we've had to deal with on a regular basis... Especially when it comes to people like you. Mind telling me what really happened to Reb?" I had to admit, he caught me off guard. It took me a moment to fully register what had been said and even then I wasn't entirely confident with my words.

"Do you want me to reiterate in gruesome detail? I, myself, don't want to."

"Who are you, Chance?" he stopped in front of me, hand lain over the butt of his pistol. "I knew there was something up the moment I met you. Almost every single thing you've said about yourself so far has felt like a lie right through your teeth... Everything except what you told me right before the horde appeared... That seemed to be the only truth I've ever gotten out of you. We're doing this here and now. I want your REAL name, what you did before all of this. I want everything. If you can't give that to me, then it'll stop here and I'm leaving you with a bullet in your brain." If only he knew how ironic that statement was. I straitened, snorting ever slightly before finally dignifying him with a sigh and a simple response. I would later regret said response, but Lucas wouldn't be a problem.

"My name is Paxton. The military part of my story wasn't a lie, but I wasn't your average commander, but certain parts of that aren't really relevant right now, nor important at all, for that matter. You want to know what I did before all of this? I sat in a single room with only a bed and a sink for thirty years just so people could poke and prod me like a caged lion." Quickly, I sprung for him, taking him by the throat. I dragged him into the lobby of an apartment complex and slammed his back against the wooden desk at its center. The gun was tossed aside and lost, to my knowledge, as I hadn't watched where it went. "And after those thirty years I was sick of it. I wanted out and I wasn't going to miss my chance. I killed every single person who got in my way. I tasted their flesh and I learned from them so much. Right now, Lucas... YOU are in my way... And you will not be given the chance to move..." I leaned in, pressing myself upon him and whispering every so gently into his ear. "Do you want to know the best part of my story?" he was silent, but I knew I had his full attention. "I did this... I did ALL of this... I brought hell to this earth and have no intention of taking it back..."

"You... You're crazy..."

"Am I? I thought you could tell when people were lying." I couldn't stop myself from laughing and RELISHED the shiver that shook him in my hands... it was the last thing he ever felt... My teeth bore so eagerly into his throat, drawing a gush of blood form him. The scream in itself was intoxicating, but I was drunken by just his scent alone. I had longed to taste flesh for months... Eating rations and spoiled food for that amount of time had me starving for just a drop of clean sustenance... and Lucas was perfect... He was healthy and strong. His muscles were taught and his blood wasn't too salty, unlike most of my previous meals. In fact, he almost tasted sweet... That was NOT the best part. When his memories hit... when his every life image flashed before my eyes, I was so greatly rewarded, unexpectedly. Lucas knew more than he was letting on...

Yes Lucas had been a bar-keep and even a bouncer on occasion, but he was so much more... Some years prior he'd taken a fancy to you a young woman from Atlanta and took to her relentlessly... Upon a drunken night, he took the liberty of... helping himself... ending up in prison for his actions... THIS was the man who had played saint to out band of merry misfits and and felt obligated to wrestle out my every misdeed? Yes, I had done far worse, but some humility should have been in place for HIS actions. I had taken my fill moments later and reached a new dilemma: I was covered in fresh blood. It was an easy problem to remedy, but not an enjoyable one.

Taking the combat knife from my leg, I pulled my arm free of my shirt-sleeve and tore into my own flesh, non-vital areas, of course. My own blood filled out the gaps in me as I made new ones across my stomach, legs, and other arm. Finally, some moments after, I began my trek to our set meeting place. It didn't take long to put Lucas at the back of my mind and much less time to bring him forward again for the sake of my newest performance. Ramona was the first to meet me at the door, taking my in a heedless embrace and leading me inside. When the others saw me, I made like I was dying.

"What happened?" Jazy demanded, body ridged.

"It was... Another horde... They took Lucas..." Ramona sat me down on a chair in the corner of the lobby and began the long process of patching my wounds. I wasn't at all happy that she, of all people, was touching me, but I had to manage. "They tore him apart..."

"Why didn't you fire the flare gun?"

"HE had it... Did you expect me to wade through a horde to retrieve an item that would have put us in more danger than get us out of it?"

"Drop it, Jazz. He needs rest. Go keep watch." For once, Ramona saved me from anything grueling. That night, I slept better than I ever had.


	4. Chapter 4: Care

_He looked to the sky... It was on fire..._

 _It singed the peek of a building spire..._

 _And when the clouds gave way to fears..._

 _They dropped on him the angel's tears..._

 _When you wake, he'll feel you wake..._

 _When you kill, he'll feel you take..._

In the night, he will seek you...

And in time, you'll seek him, too...

...

I woke so stardidly from those voices that my head was spinning in a fog. I breathed slowly and lowered my head back down upon my cot, running my palms over my face. Oh, that voice... that haunting voice... "You talk in your sleep... You know that?"The question came from Jazzy. I do belive I was unclear as to the appearence or personality of Jazzy, so I delve into such information now. He was a very thin young man, late teens to early twenties. His skin was very pale and his hair was a stylist's nightmare, a mop of thin, messy blond. His eyes were bright, however... a sweet, sugar grey. Upon his head, he wore a black band and his body was cloaked in shrouds of denim. He was soft-spoken, but had a strong sense of justice. He'd speak out if he felt compelled enough. I liked him well enough... when he wasn't looking for a drink, that is.

"No..." I breathed while lifting my head slowly. "I did not... Why wasn't I told sooner?" He shrugged.

"It was just mumbling before... Albeit, aggressive mumbling. Last night, though... I could catch a few words out of your mouth. I'm Qguessing you knew people named Bishop... Charles... and Arthur..." Now, that was a surprise. Yes, I knew a Bishop and, of course, a Charles, but I'd never once known an Arthur. My best guess was that it was of my Mother's dormant memories and one in passing.

"Yes... Yes I did... People I knew... not too long ago... They died in the fallout... Can't say that they were friends, but they were influential on my life... and my family's. Businessmen, mainly. Snakes." Jazzy laughed at that.

"Glad to see I'm not the only one who hates suits as well as the people who wear them."

"The only 'suit' I have ever worn was my combat armor. Aside from that, I was untethered to the luxury of decorum and topical grace. I find that the best of us have spent more time in hell than the devil himself."

"Odd thing to say, seeing as you speak the way you do. You always have proper grammar and you talk slow and smoothly... Any reason behind that?" I sighed, propping myself up on one elbow. I looked at him with the best 'poker-face' I could manage.

"Well, if I don't dress like a sophisticated gentleman, I can, at the very least, talk like one. A low-class upbringing is no reason to abandon civility. So many people seem to think that they must sacrifice one for the other when, in reality, the two ideas can mix, though hilariously. How would you feel if a man, stark naked and soaked with mud, walked up to you and began preaching philosophy and morals like Gandhi?" Another soft laugh from him. The reaction was... warming... in a way.

"I would be pleasantly shocked. You feeling better?"

"Yes, I am. Hurting, but... Good enough... Is everyone else alright? Holding together?" He sighed, looking out of the window whose sill he'd been sitting on.

"Yeah. We're a little curious... seeing as Lucas is gone... He kinda took care of us. What now?"

"We move on. We moved on when we lost Reb. We'll move on, now. Losing someone is no reason to stop surviving. He would've wanted to see us continue to fight." Jazzy shrugged it off as though the effort I put into sounding kind was nothing. It was then that the first headache hit. Usually I tried to keep my pains to myself, but this shock was so sudden that I couldn't stop myself from curling over and holding my head. It was familiar...

"Are you okay?" He jumped from the sill and crouched at my side. He knew better than to touch me, but he ghosted his hand over my shoulder. I nodded slowly, forcing a horrid smile.

"Yes, I am fine. Just a headache. I get them often. I just wasn't ready for that one. In fact, they are usually a LOT worse." Jazzy's expression of worry only deepened. "Stop looking at me like that. There is no need to fret over a little chronic ailment. I have had them since I was a child." The expression remained still.

"What... what causes them?"

"Allergies." The answer was quick... a little TOO quick not to merit suspect, but I wouldn't allow him time to ask. I stood from my cot, slightly aloof but well enough off to manage. I found myself in the upper level of the store and walked slowly to the lower floor where I found Dustin and Mona cooking more of their putrid rations over a pit-fire that they made through the floor. I didn't quite agree with their method, but if they wanted to burn our shelter down, so be it. At that point, I was starting not to care.

"Chance!" Ramona barked, shrill voice causing me to imagine blood pouring from my ears. She stood to meet me, probably in means to touch me in some way, shape, or form, but I put out a flat palm to stop her, face showing my distaste for such contact. She stopped abruptly, head tilted. "You still hurting?" I wanted to roll my eyes. Yes, I was still hurting, but I also still hated the girl. She didn't give me time to answer, instead crouching at the fire and grabbing a little tin can which had been heated. With a wash-cloth, she handed me the can and tried one of her innocent smiles. "It's soup. We found it on the way here."

"You should drink it," Jazy added. "Considering your allergies." A scoff was unavoidable, but I'd humor the boy. I downed the near flavorless concoction in moments before walking towards the back of the shop and settling into an almost intact lounge chair. Jazy followed, sitting on the floor next to me. Unlike most in the group, I didn't mind him doing so. After some moments of silence, he leaned over and spoke softly to me. "She reminds me of a tiny dog," he said, pointing slightly to Mona. "Annoyingly loud and clingy as hell."

"Finally... someone understands... Lucas sure as hell didn't..."

"That why you killed him?" I shot my head around to glare at him so fast that he jumped in his seat. "I-It's alright. I won't say anything... I didn't like him either... Lucas was an idiot and a snake. He deserved to die..." He looked away, pulling his knees to his chest. "When... When you came back, I knew that your cuts were self inflicted... I know what it looks like... And... when you talked about his death... It... it sounded so... so fake... Not like when we lost Reb... You really seemed upset about that... Chance, I like you. Unlike everyone else here, you seem like you know what you're doing... like you know how to keep us safe... I'd do anything to keep you around... even if it meant turning a blind eye to what happened to Lucas. Before you showed up, we were always running and hiding, always sitting around depressed and hopeless, but... now... it feels like we have a... heh... a chance..." I wanted to laugh at the irony, but... there was a lump in my throat. I could hardly even breathe. "I lost my brother in this madness... before then, HE was the one who kept me safe and kept me going... Just goes to show that even the strongest can fall... But... you've seen the heart of hell... Maybe you're that light that can make it through this darkness... Better than a little scrawny worm like me..."

"Jazy, no... You..." It was hard to find the words as any form of kindness was hard for me to manage. "You are a lot stronger than you think. You've lived longer than most... You have fought and loved and lost as much as the rest of us. You are going to get through this... We all are..." I took a deep breath. "I, too, had a brother... Or... Have still, maybe... He's resilient. He might still be alive. He was older than me and a lot stronger, physically. He was a real soldier, the image of a perfect one, in fact. He followed orders, no questions asked. He and I never really got along... I...you could even say we hated one another... but... I... I... admired him... No matter what anyone or anything threw at him... he persevered... He never wavered... he never gave in... In the end... I suppose he did everything right... I'd never admit that do him... But he did... He was a good man..." Jazy stared at me so attentively, his eyes swelling with question... I saw him asking about my brother and I, our relationship, out childhood, our upbringing... but... not what he actually asked...

"What was his name?" I was prepared for it... He had no answer... my mind was blank! What was I suppose to say? I didn't know my own brother's name? He didn't have one? Then there'd be more questions than answers and it'd never end! I quickly searched my brain for anything, any random name, but I could muster one. I then began to think of HIM specifically... how would I describe him...? The single word answer bit me hard and I wanted to suck it back into the darkest pits of my brian... He was... valiant... What was a valiant name...? I wasn't about to care. I said the first thing to reach my lips.

"Arthur."

* * *

 _A pain so stark and familiar breached the fortress of his mind... It was a pit of memories so soon forgotten before they appeared again. Ice-barren eyes lifted to the sky, watching as fire tore at the concrete and metal around him. The clouds above swirled and swelled before roaring a thunderous call... freezing rain collapsed from their threshold and met his scarred and torn flesh... Rifle in hand, he silently turned about, looking in the direction in which the signal was leading him... He had some unfinished business to take care of._


	5. Chapter 5: Challenge the Alpha

For the better part of a week, the group and I wandered the streets, collecting supplies where possible and simply surviving on basics. I hadn't an issue with it. I'd taken some 'meat' off of Lucas, anyway under the guise of beef. I managed to convince the others that it was a reserve food for cooking out of desperate times. Jazzy gave me a questioning look at the time, but I knew he wouldn't cause trouble. At that particular moment, we'd taken shelter in the courthouse, a very large and opulent building with only a few beasts running around inside. As we killed them off, I noticed how much like wolves they really were. From their behavior towards us and others of their kind, I concluded that they were rogues. They attacked one another and tore at the living with incredible ferocity. Out of curiosity, I left one alive in the council chamber and returned to it when the others slept. I kept at a good distance and tried my best to control it as I could the others. Oddly enough, it was resistant to my influence. The thought of any number of them going rogue and somehow resisting higher command was very unsettling, but I truly believed that there weren't many of the kind.

We sat in a circle around a small camp fire, hardly enough to warm us but just enough to cook meager amounts of food and boil water. Jazzy sat close to my right and Mona was across from me. Dustin was half asleep to Jazzy's right and, unannounced to him, drooling. Jazzy shifted uneasily, flinching at any outside noise. He'd always been nervous. Soon, Mona and Dustin were both out cold and I was left with Jazzy who would sometimes 'zone-out' in the smolder at our toes. He looked to me after an hour, eyes filled with exhaustion and question. "Did you have parents?" he asked. Mentally, I growled. Did he HAVE to mention parents? I couldn't blame him. He didn't know any better. Still, I was in the mood to be a little playful. Maybe it could lighten him up.

"Everyone has parents." He scowled at me.

"You know what I mean." I laughed lightly and shook my head.

"I knew my mother for a little while."

"What was she like?"

I took a deep breath and thought for a moment. "Well... She was quiet. Very quiet. She'd speak at times, but when she did, what she said was often cryptic. She was also very... emotional. She expressed what she was feeling vividly. One look at her and you'd know if she was angry, sad, happy... She was rarely happy... She died, though... leaving my brother and I to the care of our grandfather..."

"What was he like?"

My face contorted to a scrunch of wrath. "He was cruel, unfeeling, heartless... He had no heed for others and used my brother and I as outlets for his curiosity and anger. At times, it got so bad that I even wanted to kill him with my bare hands..." I balled my hands into tight fists, knuckles going white. Jazzy curled into himself, looking up at me with unreadable eyes. I sighed at him and released the angry dog I hadn't been aware I was holding on to. I relaxed and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm... sorry. I didn't meant to rant... Heh... I guess I can be emotional, too." Right then, there was a heavy slam towards the front of the building and Mona and Dustin woke instinctively to it. They were trained as light sleepers.

"Wha... what was that?" Mona groaned quietly, rubbing her eyes. I stood slowly, splaying a palm in her direction.

"Quiet," I whispered and crept over to the door of the office. I peered out the door into the main hall of the building. At first I noticed nothing out of the ordinary besides the open door which lead out into the raging thunder-storm. Then, it came in a second... a little shock to the back of my brain... a very familiar shock. I couldn't react fast enough; literally. There was no physical way it was possible. A tight vice wrapped around my throat and yanked me into the hall, slamming the back of my head against the wall so hard that everything went white for but a moment. When my senses settled, I saw before me a contorted expression of the purest rage I'd ever witnessed. Ice-cold eyes bore me down, seeing into me... so deeply that I thought they saw my very soul... and wanted to rip it from my body. The face was only slightly familiar, obviously changed since I last saw it. He'd grown a scruffy beard and his hair was longer and matted. From his head to his toes, he was soaking wet, dripping and even shivering slightly. In one hand, he held me. In the other, he held a knife.

The surprise on his face, though, when a metal pipe slammed down on his back was almost satisfying. Mona had done it, screaming and smashing the object into him. Yes, he was surprised, but hardly phased. He grabbed the item quickly as she went to swing again in an attempt to force her away, but Jazzy snagged the knife off of my left and went at him, slashing wildly without form or question. Dustin fumbled from the room, a flare gun in hand. It was chaos, to say the least. If it continued, we'd all be in trouble. "Stop!" I screamed over the grip on my wind-pipe. It didn't let up. "Stop! No! It's my brother! This is my brother!" At that, everyone froze... even him... He shot a glare at me, still holding onto Mona's 'weapon.' "Jazzy," I said, looking at the young man, "...meet Arthur..." The deep glare went wide with a tilted head. I expected as much. He'd never had a name, before.

"Th-this... This is... Arthur...? Why... Why did he attack you?"

"I... I told you... He and I aren't on the nicest terms... Now, Arthur..." I looked back to my brother, breathing slight. "Whatever problem you have with me, leave them out of it. You're a soldier, right? You protect the citizens of your country from large-scale threats. If you see me as such a threat, then take my life, but not theirs. They have nothing to do with me."

"What?" Jazzy interrupted. "No! Chance, you're all we have! We'll die without you! Please, Arthur! He's your brother! Why would you hurt him? Brothers are suppose to be there for one another! Help one another! You're family! He may have done some bad things, but we all have! We're human and we're all suffering! We need to work with one another! Besides, no bad deed can transcend blood!" As moving as the speech might have been, I knew it wouldn't get through to my brother. He was a wall... an emotionless, military-programmed wall.

"Jazzy, just... get back into the room. You don't understand. You never will. None of you will. Don't get in his way."

"No! There's no reason for this! Even if we didn't need you, this still isn't right! My brother and I had our problems, but we still loved each-other down to the last moments I had with him. I would give anything to have my family back, yet, here you two are, the last people in YOUR family and you're going to kill one another!" I would have added to my earlier statement, proclaiming again how much Jazzy didn't comprehend the situation, how he needed to let it happen... but then I felt the grip loosen... It was still nearly suffocating, but... looser... Looking to my brother, I found his attention no longer on me... "Arthur... Chance told me about you... About... how he thinks you're a good man... How you do what's right... Well, I hear him say that and I can only think of a loving person... someone who'd cherish their family... PLEASE tell me he wasn't lying... PLEASE be the good man he made you out to be! We need him! He's the only thing that's kept us together and alive!" My brother's attention slowly turned back to me and his expression was that of disbelief. He couldn't find truth in what he was hearing. The grip got looser... and looser... The hand slid down across my chest and my feet touched the ground fully. I couldn't believe what I was SEEING... Jazzy... quiet, conserved Jazzy.. had just convinced the coldest person I knew... to spare my life... His sense of justice was stronger than I ever imagined. Scary, almost... Perhaps, one day, he'd turn it against me... If he found out all the things I'd done... My brother... Arthur looked at me still, eyes searching for something I was unsure of... Him being near still... well... scared me...

"If... If you want to be nice... and stay... we have f-food and water," Added Dustin, still reeling from everything that had just happened.

"Yeah... only if Chance is safe in his sleep tonight... I... I'm Ramona... This is Dustin... and Jazzy... We used to have more, but... those... things got them..."

"Actually," I broke in. "Speaking of those 'things,' our little... scuffle might have attracted some... We better pack up and move as fast as possible."

"Right..." Jazzy added, jogging back into the offices. I followed, putting Mona and Dustin between Arthur and I as a minor precaution. As we gathered our things into duffle bags, I could feel his eyes on me. Somehow... it didn't burn as bad as I imagined it would.


	6. Chapter 6: Zealot

He'd been tracking the commander for weeks, keeping just far enough away so that Fettel couldn't sense him. He, on the other hand, needed to be a rather close distance, but could manage at the one he'd been keeping. The reason for this was that he couldn't see on his own. He'd been unable for months, but the concept of being blind was all he could honestly cling to. He remembered going blind shortly before waking, but whatever he was before his recommission was entirely void. It didn't matter anymore, anyway. He had a task to complete. After losing the First Prototype to failure, the 'reanimation' of Fettel was of particular interest to Armacham. It was his job to monitor this new development in the Fairport branch. They called him Zealot. 'They' being Armacham. They told him that the name meant 'ruthless,' but he wasn't so sure it was fitting as of late. Shadowing a group of civilians was tame sport... Until, of course, number one showed up. The additional catalyst for a new development gave Armacham something that they really wanted. The prototypes would give it to them. For now, though, Zealot was forced to wade through the toll in the group's wake. Just another thing the Board of Directors didn't want to do themselves. A little part of him wanted to make a crude remark at the idea of a bunch of suits pointing a figure and sending a soldier into the danger-zone without so much as a passing glace, but he knew it wasn't his place. Besides, they were monitoring him. They could see what his visor saw and hear what he heard. Any sort of snide comment would probably get him violently decommissioned.

Zealot stood from his perch atop a somewhat stable sky-scraper. He wore slick, black armor with a somewhat reflective quality. The particular material was of great importance to the success of his operation. One flick of a switch and the entire surface refracted, shattered the boundary of the seen and unseen. He vanished in moments and moved in silence. No, the technology was not unheard of. There were entire companies of Armacham soldiers who possessed it, but Zealot hardly saw them as equals. They were mere grunts trusted with slightly more responsibility than the average brute. They're only skill was sneaking up on targets and flinging themselves around. Zealot believed he was a little more than that. A lot more, actually. Tracking the commander so closely was hardly an ordeal to be taken lightly and certainly something that no 'stealth-unit' could' accomplish.

As he moved along the buildings, shadows being his ally, he breathed slight, only able to sense with his mind and his ears. Without either, he was useless. He could FEEL the commander's presence. He could tell how far away he was, what mood he was in-which was a surprisingly good one-, and even what he was thinking. It wasn't the kind of mind reading that gave the reader a little voice in his head, but more of a concept that allowed the reader to at least see slight images from within the host's thought processes. They were vague, at best, and random as the human mind usually was. Psychic or not, Paxton Fettel's mind was a very volatile concoction. It was as spastic as any mind, but all the different thoughts were like parts to a mosaic. Individually, they were just pieces, fragments of nothing, but together, they were a picture, a look at a bigger concept. Zealot wasn't sure how to find that concept, but he found a very common theme among the shards: Uncertainty. For such a confident Commander, he was unsure about a great many things. It wasn't Zealot's job to put it together, though. It was to follow and nothing more. He continued to move and follow the signature of the Commander's mind, feeling along buildings, street-ward items, and the vague outlines of civilization that still remained. The images of uncertainty continued.. breadcrumbs to follow... Then one crossed Zealot's mind... It came not from the Commander, but from number one...

There was a foggy memory... it was grainy, but comprehensible... and almost familiar... How he was able to produce such a strong image was beyond any expectations. He was suppose to be a weak, fragile failure... but he produced such a clear... memory... Zealot stood still, watching the images play out before him... Images of a man... a young man... He was healthy-looking... Shaved head... Goatee... His eyes were bright blue, but not like number one's or the Commander's... they were warm like a pure azure sky. His voice was light-hearted, but stern.

" _You're putting **him** in the field? He just transferred in a week ago!_ "

It jumped to another image... cold now... and dead... eyeless sockets and veiny, pale complexion. A ghostly voice...

" _Is someone there...?_ "

It made Zealot's chest tight... His throat dry... But as soon as they appeared, they faded away. He glanced over his surroundings and found that the group had moved almost out of range. If he'd lost them, he'd have had no way. Zealot shook his head and rushed after them, still silent, but no longer so sure... Uncertainty was contagious.


	7. Chapter 7: A Harbinger

Quiet was always an issue... Especially with my brother there. In time I came to realize that I had unintentionally named him like a stray dog, as well as named him of the unknown person in my memory. He didn't seem to mind. Having a name was much easier than using his rank and boded well for the rest of the group. By then, I was sitting up on the roof of a gas station while the rest of the group was inside. Brother was leaning against the neon sign next to me and staring with a burning light in his eyes. I wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing. For some time, we sat in the same silence than had eloped us for around three hours. I wasn't sure why, but I couldn't stand it. I'd spent too many nights in this kind of silence and I wasn't keen on continuing the trend. "Are you willing to listen for a moment?" I asked, looking to the older man with a subtle hope. His head tilted and expression turned slightly in curiosity. Perhaps it was a 'yes.'

"I understand that... That you might have some qualms with me. You blame me for this entire ordeal... I wouldn't deny blame, but I have to say that it wasn't entirely me and you know that. They took the memories from you and I wouldn't expect you to remember, but you know what happened. You know what they did to us. I'd never ask you to forgive me or put threat past me as there is much you have to fret with and blame me for, but perhaps you can hold off this vendetta for a little while? These people need help. I never intended on helping them, but I'm going to see this through. They're annoying, they're hardheaded, they're naive, they're near hopeless, but they're good people. I don't want to lose anymore of them. Perhaps you can help me stop that from happening, but you need to agree to keep out past to yourself... At least until this is over. After that, you can shoot me again, turn me in, do whatever you want..."

His expression didn't change, but he turned his head to gaze down at the street below. It was slightly disheartening, but that was put to rest when he turned back to me and gave a single, strong nod. Having that weight off of me was slightly more relaxing, but there was still silence on the other end of the line. It made me wonder many things. "This... reminds me... I want to know why you don't speak, brother... Is it by choice?" He shook his head, face turning into a soft proclamation of his exhaustion. "Is it physical?" He nodded. I knew it couldn't me an injury as he'd never spoken as I could recall, but the sounds he DID make seemed very weak and almost forced. His growling on occation was even nearly inaudible. "Is it a birth defect?" He rolled his shoulders in a limp shrug. It probably was, but there was no knowing for sure if he hadn't any further clue. "Hmm... Maybe, one day, someone will know how to fix it... Do you ever wish you could speak?" Another nod. I honestly wished he could elaborate. I could see into his mind, but neither he nor I knew how to use our connection to communicate. Of course, I had once used my connection with the psychic world to command my soldiers, but my brother was no replica. His signature was entirely different. It was like tuning a radio with a missing nob. It had to be done finely with a pair of pliers. Could I see into his mind? To a degree and I could even manipulate it a little, but the transmission was no a double-pass. He couldn't counter the signal. I might have been able to teach him. It'd be hard, but I was willing to try. Not at that moment, though. He needed to trust me, first.

I looked back to him and found him looking at the street once more. His gaze had hardened, squinting. He saw something... And I heard it. It sounded like a heavy engine. I turned towards it, but not a second later, I was yanked by my collar onto my stomach. My brother was peering over the edge of the roof, eyes still fixed. I looked over the ledge just in time to see an APC thunder past at a speed that I hadn't ever though one could reach. Behind it were two other APCs, but different in design. Their mounted guns were practically on fire as they pelted the first vehicle relentlessly. From what I saw of it, their weaponry was doing significant damage. It wouldn't last much longer. "I believe those belong to Armacham, brother," I commented. "Two of them, anyway. We should be concerned. I'm curious, though... What were they doing with that other one?" I got up and quickly lowered myself from the roof with a pillar and took off down the road before my brother realized what I was doing. I had no doubt he'd capture me eventually, but not until I got close enough. With the amount of debris and broken-down vehicles in the streets, the APCs would have to do some maneuvering, meaning lower speeds. They hadn't gotten too far, in fact, and I managed to catch up enough by the time the leading vehicle was incapacitated and flipped violently onto its side. The chasing APCs skidded to a stop and the rear hatches opened to release squads of Armacham grunts. I ducked behind a small SUV and peered through the window on the other side to watch the scene unfold.

"If the driver is still alive, we are giving you ten seconds to get out of the vehicle," commanded one of the higher-ranked officers as loud as he possibly could. I rolled my eyes. 'Moron.' "If you do not comply, we will drag your fucking corpse out!" Suddenly, I felt a tight grip on my shoulder and I almost yelped. How hadn't I felt my own brother until then? THAT was concerning. He lowered himself to a crouch next to me and watch just as I was.

"They're making too much noise," I whispered to him. "They'll attract a horde and get themselves killed. Anyway, they're attempting to take the driver alive, it seems. If that's true, then Armacham has themselves a rather important person. Not a psychic, as far as I can tell." He spared me a quick glance before turning his attention back to the soldiers. I did as well just in time to see the back hatch of the toppled APC grind open in a show of sparks. From it crawled a man in military attire and black Kevlar, his skin blotched my dirt and blood and eye a deep ebony. He struggled to his feet, hands clutched in fists. It didn't take a second of observing this man for me to know that he wasn't about to surrender in spite of the horrible odds. Each man before him raised their guns except for one who stepped forward and sized him up.

"Hands behind your head," he growled coldly. The man stood silently. The soldier raised a pistol to his head and pressed the cold metal against it. The other didn't even flinch. "Hands. Above. Your. Head."

"No..." His voice was so laden with burden and an attempt to hide it. He was strong. I could feel it in him. A shame how things were probably going to end. "I'm not gonna let you make any more monsters..." Now THAT caught my attention. This man was involved with one of Armacham's projects, then. What kind of monsters was he referring to? I turned my attention to the man holding the pistol. I sensed the impulse clicking in his brain and felt it as he went to pull the trigger.

* * *

 _A single impulsive moment... A moment of choice, of will over command and I was not about to squander it. There was a hint to something greater and a hint I was not about to let slip through my fingers._

* * *

"Stand down, Brigs." Came a strange, almost robotic voice from the shadows. Paxton lowered himself further to the ground and found his stance mirrored by his brother. Suddenly appearing from a glass-like cloak came a man dressed in slick, black armor. Every square inch of him was covered, even his face which was hidden behind a smooth screen. The man with the pistol promptly lowered the gun.

"Commander?" the entire time, Paxton was being bombarded with an intense signal from the being, a strong, psychic disturbance. Something was very wrong with it. It was nothing like he'd ever felt before. "Sir, we have our orders."

"Yes, you do. Stand down. I'll take care of this." His voice was so cold...

"With all do respect, sir, I don't believe you have jurisdiction here."

"I have been tasked with dealing with every and anything to do with Projects Origin, Perseus, and Harbinger. This man is a part of Project Harbinger and, thus, my charge. I'll say it one last time, Brings: Tell your men to stand down." With a defeated sigh, the man, named Brigs, motioned for his men to lower their weapons. Shortly after, the strange commander approached the subject of the 'Harbinger' project. Paxton hadn't a clue as to what that project my be, but if it was in importance with Origin and Perseus, then it was something worth noting. "Sargent Manuel Morales of the Delta Squad Dark Signal. You are coming with me. If you have any arguments, take into consideration what you're dealing with. I don't recommend fighting."

"I'm not afraid to do die."

"I know. You could care less about your own well being in this situation, but what of your family, Sargent? Do THEY matter?" Sargent Morales, apparently, straitened, eyes going wide for but a moment. "Yes, they have to. They are all that matters in your life, anymore. Believe me, Sargent, if you want them alive, you'll cooperate and, yes, we know where they are. Your father and your three younger sisters. It'd be a shame to have poor Mia's life cut so short, wouldn't it? She's already been through a lot. Losing her mother and then one of her legs. She's resting cozy at an outpost on the outskirts of the financial district outside Petal. Have anything to say, Sargent?" The Sargent's mouth opened and close in many false starts before he closed it one last time. He slowly lifted his arms and places his hands behind his head. "Good man." The commander grabbed him by his shoulder and escorted him towards an APC. Paxton could feel something, however, in his labyrinth of a mind.

A sudden impulse.


End file.
